


You Seem Starshaped

by Conscious_ramblings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - 90s, Beer, Dancing, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Music, Recreational Drug Use, and is in ch 2, its very sweet and soft, weed only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conscious_ramblings/pseuds/Conscious_ramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a weekend of contradictions<br/>One suspended outside of time where he meets the person he'll be with for all time.<br/>One where the worst thing happens only for him to meet the best thing.<br/>One where the band that shaped his teenage choices end up changing his entire life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Seem Starshaped

**Author's Note:**

> So this is clare's birthday fic, only about 4 weeks late... I'm sorry my love. 
> 
> I ended up splitting it into two parts despite planning on it as a one shot, but the next half shouldn't be toooooo far away.
> 
> Clare I love you, you are one of the best people I have met in this fandom, and you brighten every day for me. You are one of the best people to bounce fic ideas off, and that along with our shared love of britpop and oasis particularly has made this super hard to write. It had to be perfect for you, for liam, for noel, for that concert I went to when I was 15 that made me fall in love with live music.
> 
> To everyone else... I was at this gig, it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I still talk about it 20 years later. I hope I've managed to do it some justice.
> 
> There is a playlist to go along with this which you can find [here ](http://open.spotify.com/user/11148820282/playlist/19j9ZvkGlHrKWaFrKHvTVT) at spotify. There will be a part 2 with chapter 2. There are lyrics interspersed through the fic and each one if from the next song in the playlist so hit play when you get to them :) They either are things Harry is listening to, songs that are being performed live, or just things that fit the mood.
> 
> All the lyrics in the fic are from songs released at the time the fic is set or earlier. There is one song that was actually released a few months later than the fic but the idea of it fit so well and its of the era.
> 
> Oh one last thing! There is some 'written accent' in this fic from an original scottish character. I normally hate written accents but theres no way to explain aberdonian accents without it. Aberdeen used to speak a dialect called doric, which is really quite different to standard scots, and uses its own words. Modern aberdonain borrows words and phrases from doric and mixes them with standard scots. I apologise to any aberdonians who are offended by my writing... I did live there for all my teen years but it's been a while.
> 
> \--------
> 
> Welcome to Scotland in 1996... I hope you enjoy your stay

 

_ Still you bought a toy that can reach _

_ the places he never goes and now it’s getting late. _

_ He’s so straight. Do you remember the first time? _

 

 

The Scottish lowlands flashed by, passing the bus in a constant stream of green grass and purple heather. Harry rested his head against the window of the bus, exhausted from his three am start. It would be worth it. It would all be worth it when he was in the pit, when he got to see one of the most important gigs of all time from up close and personal. This was his generation’s Spike Island. It might only be six years later, but it was a different vibe, a different feeling caught. Rather than then when the country was in the grips of Thatcher’s Britain, now they were in the last legs of the conservatives clinging to power. Labour were already clear winners of the next election. Blair was busy courting musicians and actors. It felt poised on the edge of something great.

Pulp continued to play on his walkman. He only had three tapes with him. His ‘n’ Hers, Blur’s The Great Escape, and Nuisance by Menswear. It had taken Harry a week to decide just which albums he would bring on this trip. Space was limited, he only had a small backpack so he didn’t have to carry loads on site. In the end he’d decided that he didn’t need any of the music he was here to see, which had cut things down significantly, but there had still been an intense coin flipping battle between Menswear, Supergrass and the Manics. 

Six months previously Harry had been at Affleck’s palace, buying his ticket. They’d queued overnight, sleeping on hard concrete in the cold Manchester winter. It had been the day of their last A level mock. History, it had been. They’d all piled on the bus after school, up to Manchester before their mums could stop them. They’d been banned from going to the Maine Road gig in April due to their A-levels looming a month after, but no one had said they couldn’t go to Scotland in August. 

They’d bundled up in sleeping bags, shielding themselves from the grey drizzle with half broken umbrellas. There had been about fifty people in front of them when they arrived, already hunkered down, staking out their space along the road. About half an hour after they arrived someone came along to set up barriers, muttering about how stupid kids trying to get tickets for stupid bands were the bane of their lives. 

He’d fallen asleep for a few hours with mouth sticky with coconut MD 20/20, and clothes and curls smelling of lingering smoke. A discarded bag of mcdonalds lay beside him, the tang of oil from the chips mixing with everything else. It had been damp, cold, uncomfortable, and he’d woken approximately fifty times throughout the night, but when he woke for good finally there was a buzzing in his veins that not even his slight hangover could shake. 

The queue to buy tickets had wound through the stairwells of Affleck’s, past second hand stalls, shops selling more velvet than Harry thought anyone should ever own, racks of bucket hats, cheap silver jewellery, more incense than you could shake a stick at, and of course, music. There were shops selling CDs, some still selling tapes, some selling vinyl although only the most dedicated music heads bothered with that these days. 

By the time they had finally got to the front Harry had been yawning widely, possibly more excited at the thought of getting home to his bed than of the ticket he was being handed. Twenty two quid, half his allowance for the month. He was going to have to work extra shifts at the bakery to get the coach fare, and to get money for drinks and stuff, but he couldn’t think of anything he would rather spend money on. 

 

_ Alright. Oh I want to take you home. _

_ I want to give you children. _

_ You might be my next girlfriend, yeah. _

 

Johnny was sat on the coach to his left, head leaning on Harry’s shoulder, mouth open and drooling slightly. There was a growing damp patch, but Harry was too tired to want to move and wake him. 

Their mums had been furious, of course, but with school done and uni coming up in just a couple of months, there was nothing they could really do. Harry was eighteen, they all were, so while they’d been punished for sneaking up to Manchester to buy tickets, they were being allowed to go to the gig. 

Harry was going to uni in Leeds. He’d gone for an open day a while back and had been enamoured with the city. It was so different to Manchester, or even London where his sister lived. Well, he would be going if his A levels were good enough anyway. They had a couple of weeks left until the results. A couple of weeks left of stressing and worrying about how well he’d done. Not this weekend though. This was about music.

The coach dropped them off just outside Balloch. It was still early, just edging up to ten, and the doors didn’t even open till mid day, but there was a crowd already gathered. People lay in the long grass, drinking despite the early hour and passing joints back and forth. There was a bloke with a guitar somewhere off to the left, he was murdering the stone roses, but everyone was singing along and cheering anyway. 

It felt like their generation had been given a holiday. A day to just exist in the zeitgeist of brit pop, to soak up the sounds and the energy.

Loch Lomond shimmered in the distance. light reflecting off it’s surface. The weather was uncharacteristic of Scotland in August. Hot sun beat down on their group as insects buzzed around them and soundchecks drifted across the breeze towards them. It just added to the feeling of this day, this weekend, being suspended in time. Harry knew he’d be talking about how he was there for the rest of his life, long past when anyone actually cared.

Today the greatest band of their time would play to forty thousand people. Today forty thousand people would raise their voices with Liam Gallagher and define a generation. Tomorrow they would do it again. In the history books Knebworth would go down as bigger, with a hundred and twenty five thousand people per night, but Harry was certain Loch Lomond would go down as better. 

Oasis were one of his favourite bands, if not his favourite. The first time Harry had heard ‘Definitely Maybe’ it had changed his life, with no exaggeration. ‘(What’s the story) Morning Glory?’ had been even better. They were the reason Harry played guitar, the reason he’d changed his football allegiance from United to City, the reason he sung in the shower (perfecting his Liam Gallagher patented ‘sunshine’ drawl), the reason he loved music as much as he did.

He’d been 16 when ‘Definitely Maybe’ came out, and apart from a few British bands he’d mainly been listening to grunge. It was good, he loved bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains, but they talked of a different experience to the one Harry lived. They talked of something particularly American, and while he loved it dearly, he couldn’t connect to it fully. Hearing Liam sing ‘supersonic’ for the first time in his familiar Manchester accent, hearing him sing about being himself while littering the song with British references, it had felt like music had come home. 

It had been a catalyst. Harry had dived headfirst into British music, discovering Blur, Pulp, Elastica, Ash, Supergrass, The Stone Roses, Cast, Ocean Colour Scene, The Happy Mondays, The Manics, and more, all in quick succession. Some he loved, some he hated, but it all had some impact. 

 

_ City dweller, successful fella, _

_ Thought to himself, whoops I’ve got a lot of money, _

_ I’m caught in a rat race terminally _

 

The kid with the guitar had just changed from The Stone Roses to Blur, causing the crowd around him to burst out into stoned giggles. The battle of the bands the previous summer had been the most ridiculously orchestrated thing ever, but there was still this feeling that you couldn’t be fans of both. Singing Blur here, while waiting for Oasis, was a hangable offence to many. 

Hours passed in hazy warmth, more and more people arriving at the site and joining the queue. His crowd worked their way through a twenty four box of tennants that they had grabbed at a service station somewhere near Ayr. When the gates finally opened Harry was buzzed for a multitude of reasons.

There was a man handing out wristbands for the pit, only the first few hundred people and a handful of celebs would get the chance to get right up close and personal with the Gallaghers. Harry desperately crossed his fingers, hoping they had been there early enough to get them all in. 

“Here you go, son.” A gruff Scottish voice handed Johnny a wristband as he checked his ticket, Harry was next.

“Sorry kid, that’s it on the pit wristbands.” Well fuck. All his mates had pit bands, it was just Harry stuck without. He took the proffered general admission band anyway, slightly in shock, and followed the rest of them inside.

“H, it’s fine. We’ll all stay with you.” Johnny looked round at their friends, who all nodded reluctantly. Harry loved them a lot, he really did. Too much to let them give this up for him.

“No, don’t be silly. I’ll be ok. Just come and find me every so often till they go on yeah? I’m gonna park myself by that tree at the bottom of the hill.” Johnny looked conflicted, the others looked relieved. 

Harry was devastated. This was the worst thing that would have happened. Not only had he missed out on watching his favourite band from up close but he was alone. All alone in a strange country where people spoke with accents he could barely understand.

As he made it to the tree he lay back on the grass as people filtered into the site, streaming round him with buzzing excitement radiating off them. Harry fully intended to wallow for at least an hour. He had a book with him, Trainspotting, a cliche for a trip to Scotland but at least he’d have people around him to translate if the dialect made no sense. Begbie had just glassed someone in a pub. Harry really hoped that wasn’t something that happened all the time in Scotland.

Music drifted from the speakers, a mixture of current stuff and music from the sixties and early seventies. Harry let it wash over him as he read, sipping a beer from the nearby bar. He was just drifting off in the summer heat, beer lazy and lulled by the sounds around him, when someone tripped over his legs. They went flying, sprawling on the grass, laughing far too hard for someone sober. 

“Fuck. Sorry, mate.” The person turned to Harry, and turned out to be the prettiest boy Harry had ever seen in real life. His hair was soft and messy, and he pushed it back off his face with one hand while he held out the other for Harry to shake. His hands were small, engulfed by Harry’s larger ones. 

He wore a stussy shirt, baggy jean shorts, and a pair of etnies on his feet. They were held together by skate tape and Harry was utterly endeared. Just as he was losing himself in fantasies of this beautiful boy on a skateboard with his hair pushed back under a cap, the boy managed to knock Harry’s pint over whilst scrabbling to his feet.

“Fuck. Again. Shit. I’ve got the worst luck.” He paused, looking sheepishly at Harry. “Let me buy you another? I was just heading to the bar.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. Honestly, there was only about half left.” The boy made Harry nervous in the best ways, but the likelihood of the boy being gay were about negative ten. 

“Then I’ll buy you a pint, you drink half and I’ll drink the rest. No arguments curly.” The boy held out a hand to pull Harry up, and kept hold of Harry’s hand after, pulling Harry after him.

 

_ He’s a supercharged lover _

_ Sold his soul and sold his mother _

_ For his rock n roll and fame _

_ Again and again and again and again _

 

“I’m Louis.” Skater boy held out his hand again, even though there was no space between them at the packed bar. Harry could feel Louis’ body heat even over the hot day, heating him further. He took Louis’s hand again, felt something tingle down his spine at the touch. 

“I’m Harry. You’re not Scottish, right?” Louis laughed loudly at Harry’s question, head thrown back, pretty neck exposed. Harry swallowed heavily at the sight.

“Whatever gave me away? Was it the lack of ginger hair? The lack of accent?” Harry giggled, slightly embarrassed but willing to put up with that for just a few minutes longer of Louis’ attention on him full beam. “Nah I’m from Doncaster but I’ve been up here at uni for a year. Came with a few mates. What about you?”

“I. Um. I just finished school actually.” He could feel the blush on his cheeks, suddenly feeling very young despite his eighteen years. 

“Awesome. Last summer of freedom before uni?” Louis grinned, not seeming fussed by Harry’s age at all. That probably didn’t bode well for Harry’s hopes that Louis might by some miracle be both gay and interested.

“Something like that, yeah.” Harry was saved from further elaboration by the barmaid who had finally asked Louis what he wanted. He ordered six pints, explaining quickly after that he had promised them to his mates too. 

 

_ But when I called her number _

_ Her mother’s on the line sayin’ _

_ You’ve no business _

_ As God’s my witness _

_ With a child as young as mine. _

 

“Are you here with people?” Louis asked as they elbowed their way out of the crowd of people around the bar, each holding a carrier with three pints, both likely spilling more than they saved.

“Uh, yeah, but they’re all in the pit. I missed out by like one person.” Harry tried not to sound bitter. He wasn’t. He didn’t begrudge his friends the experience. He was just a bit jealous and a bit lonely. 

“Feck. That sucks.” Harry tried to stifle a giggle at the Scottish accent that had briefly tinged Louis’ otherwise very yorkshire accent. 

They walked back towards the tree, a silence between them that felt like it contained something Harry couldn’t put his finger on. Just as they reached it Louis span towards him.

“You should come hang out with us.” He blurted the words like he wasn’t sure he meant them.

“No, honestly, it’s fine, I’ll be ok. I don’t want to intrude.” Harry desperately wanted to say yes, but Louis sounded so unsure, like he was just being polite. 

“Young Harold.” Louis looked stern, Harry didn’t know if he should laugh or cringe. “I can’t carry these all by myself. You’ve seen the state of my coordination. And you can’t just help me carry them and then fuck off, that would be rude. Stay for this pint at least?” 

Harry nodded, following behind Louis. This way they both had an out if Harry turned out to be embarrassing or if they thought he was too young, or if Louis’ friend’s were twats. 

“OiiiOiii” Louis hollered at a group of lads about ten metres away from them, heads turning and smiles widening as they saw him approach with offerings of beer.

“I found a stray, we’re adopting him. Fellas, Harry, Harry, the lads.” That seemed to be the extent of Louis’ introduction skills, and one of the guys rolled his eyes fondly as he reached out to take one of the beers Harry was holding.

“I’m Liam, you can call me Payno though, everyone does.” The man had kind eyes and short brown hair gelled up at the front. Harry smiled back, unable to shake his hand because of the beers he was still holding. Another hand reached to take one, this one belonging to a guy with blonde tips to his very sticky up hair.

“Niall, Nialler, Irish, I respond to a lot of things. Good to meet you!” The blonde, Niall, was grinning like a pixie. His face was already slightly pink from the sun and he had a guitar propped up beside him. 

“Zayn.” Another voice said simply, Harry turned to it’s owner. He was possibly the most intimidatingly beautiful person Harry had ever seen, but something in the simplicity of his greeting and the openness in his face put Harry at ease.

“And I’m Donnie.” A Scottish voice to his right chimed in. “Fit were ye called again?” Harry stared blankly for a second, trying to compute the strong accent.

“Umm, Harry?” He hoped and prayed that was the right answer. The grin from the scotsman seemed to imply it was.

“Good to meet you, Harry. Fa d’ye bide, then?” This time Harry had no clue.

“Donnie.” Louis had his stern voice on again. “What have we said about speaking English to the English?” Donnie just grinned wickedly.

“Ahh but it’s so fun to see him look aa confused. Sorry Harry. I wis jist asking, where do you live then?” Harry still had no clue how what he’s said the first time could translate to that, but ok.

“I’m from a little village in Cheshire. Near Manchester. But I’m off to Leeds for uni soon.” Harry spoke quietly, not wanting to intrude on the conversation that had been going on before, but everyone hung on his words like they were actually interested.

“A Manchester lad! Are you more Noel or Liam d’ya ken? I’m gonna call you ‘our kid’” Donnie’s manchester impression was frankly dreadful.

“Liam’s from Wolverhampton, Niall’s from the middle of nowhere in Ireland, Zayn’s Bradford, you know where I’m from, and Donnie here is from Aberdeen. That’s why he makes no sense. Ever.” Louis jumped in to rescue Harry from more Aberdonianisms with his quick summary of his friends, glaring darkly at Donnie as if daring him to intervene. 

“How did you all meet?” Harry wasn’t sure how such a diverse group could end up together. His friendship group consisted almost exclusively of people he had met at school, a few people he knew from Canal Street, and a couple of pen friends that he was dreadful of keeping up with. 

“Got thrown together in halls. There were six of us then but the other lad was fucking odd. The five of us ended up renting a flat together for next year.” Louis moved to sit beside Harry, talking more privately as the others drifted back to their own conversations.

 

_ I’d buy you a diamond ring my friend  _

_ If it makes you feel alright _

 

The first support band came onstage, blasting ‘Hard Day’s Night’. Only Oasis could get away with having The Bootleg Beatles as support for one of the biggest gigs of the decade. Everyone hummed and sang along, too languid from the early afternoon sun to really bother getting involved. 

Conversation continued, more beers were bought (Harry’s protests that he should probably leave them be fell on deaf ears) and a joint was passed around by Zayn.

“Don’t the police mind us smoking weed?” Harry asked, slightly in awe at how Zayn had rolled and sparked it right as two police officers walked right past their group. 

“Nah, they’re more worried about the bams getting wasted. Drunk people cause more stress. As long as I’m not selling it we should be good. Was the same at T in the Park a few weeks ago.” Harry took the joint when offered, more relaxed by Zayn’s explanation but still slightly incredulous. It just added to the feeling that this was a day suspended from the usual rules of life. 

“So you’re all at Glasgow?” Harry directed the question to Louis, needing to capture Louis’ attention at all times but feeling a bit ashamed of himself for it. He felt so young, like just the year or two these guys had on him, years spent away from home and school, made him a silly kid to them. His conversation starter wasn’t much but at least it wasn’t A-levels and fears of losing touch with old friends, which was what occupied Harry a great deal of the time.

“Well, I’m at Jordanhill, technically, doing teaching. We share halls with Glasgow though. And Zayn’s at the art school but same deal. Liam’s doing some finance thing, I try not to understand, it sounds so dull.” Louis winked, and Harry felt butterflies invade his tummy. “Nialler is doing History and Donnie is Chemical Engineering. What about you, what plans for Leeds?”

“Law?” Harry knew it came out as a question, but he was still so unsure of what he wanted to do. He’d applied for Law. If he got the straight A’s he needed he’d get in. He just wasn’t one hundred percent certain he wanted to get in. He loved the city, and the uni, he just couldn’t see himself as a lawyer.

“Don’t sound quite so enthused, Curly.” Louis punctuated his teasing with a pull to one of Harry’s curls, and Harry had to swallow the moan that threatened to escape his mouth at the slight tug. His face flamed, there was no way Louis would like him back even if he was gay. He needed to get a grip on himself. Harry was just a kid Louis was indulging for a few hours. He’d likely tell Harry his time was up soon anyway, and Harry would be back at his tree on his todd with his book.

“I just, I’m not sure if I want to do it, or if it’s just what I feel I should do.” Harry smiled, trying to avoid this descending into some big heart to heart about his future. He had enough of those from his mum and sister. 

“Ah the age old dilemma of the youth.” Louis winked and then laughed, patting Harry on the knee briefly. The touch shouldn’t be so reassuring, he hardly knew Louis, and yet something settled in him at the contact.

“Lads!” Niall shouted to the group from where he was lying prone on the floor, bucket hat covering his face and waving an almost empty pint glass around. “We need more beer. Before Black Grape come on.”

Harry hadn’t even been aware the first support act had finished, but Niall was right, time was edging up towards the first band anyone actually cared about. 

“I’ll come wi you.” Donnie volunteered. The two of them stood, quickly breaking into the ‘step on’ dance before Zayn told them they were wankers and that was the Happy Monday’s not Black Grape.

“Same fucking difference,” Niall argued back, “both got Bez and Ryder and that’s what matters.”

Twenty minutes they came back, ladened with beer, Niall still doing his best impression of Bez dancing. 

“Oi Louis.” He called, grin on his face implying he thought whatever he was about to say was hilarious. “It’s great when you’re straight, yeah!” 

Donnie and Niall fell about laughing while Louis just rolled his eyes in the manner of someone who had suffered through his friends for far too long. Harry was confused. He didn’t get why the album name of the band about to play was so funny but Niall’s laughter was infectious and he ended up giggling a bit anyway.

“Traitor.” Louis smacked him on the arm lightly, before turning his attention back to Niall. “I’m sure it is, Niall. Don’t see the attraction, personally, but I’m sure there are positives.” 

“Boobs are pretty awesome, Tommo.” Niall retorted, earning a dismissive ‘eh’ from Louis. Harry felt his heart rate pick up. Louis wasn’t straight. Harry still clearly had no chance, Louis was older and cooler and just incredibly out of Harry’s league, but it gave him a shiver of hope anyway. 

“Not all people with boobs are girls.” Harry spoke quietly, lacking the confidence to join in the banter fully, but Louis heard him all the same. His eyes widened for a second, before a grin spread over his face.

“Hear that, Nialler? Not all people with boobs are girls. Harry knows whats up. You one of us, Haz?” Louis nudged him in the side and Harry felt warmth spread through him like he’d drunk the first sip of a cup of tea. Louis sounded so happy, so approving, and, even though Harry had only known him for a couple of hours, Louis’ approval was so important already. 

He nodded shyly, chancing a glance up at Louis where he saw warmth and kindness on the other man’s face.

“Wonderful.  _ Far _ too many straight people in this group, if you ask me. Good to have your help evening out numbers. You definitely can’t leave now, H. I need you.” Harry just grinned in response.

 

_ Walking up the hills! _

_ Go forward! _

_ In the name of the father and the holy ghost _

_ In the name of your father and your holy ghost _   
  


Black Grape burst onto the stage, all swagger and arrogance. It was a call back to the earlier days of The Happy Mondays, the madchester scene that still influenced the sounds and vibes of music, but had twisted, evolved. It had moved away from the quasi-rave scene and into the mainstream. Britpop had taken over and Black Grape had evolved with them. 

Louis dragged Harry up from the ground, keeping their hands joined as they started dancing. They stayed back from the stage, their small group staking out a patch of grass around their bags and blankets and jackets on the ground. 

Niall danced like Bez. Zayn swayed slightly with his eyes closed, singing along. Liam looked slightly stuff, but as the set went on he loosened up, strutting around with Niall. Donnie just launched himself into the nearby crowd, possibly never to be seen again. Louis though, Louis held Harry’s hand through the entire eight song set. He never let go, twisting their fingers together and laughing uproariously as they tried out totally inappropriate dance moves. They twirled, spun, waltzed, in general it was a mess but Harry had never laughed more. 

By the time the last song started he was giddy, floating, living on the slim possibility of hope that Louis might think he wasn’t just a dumb kid to take pity on. The hope that Louis might like him too

 

_ You’re twistin’ my melon man _

_ You know you talk so hip man _

_ You’re twistin’ my melon man _   
  


They ended with Step On, because of course. Even though it wasn’t this version of the band, it was still Shaun Ryder, still Bez. They still got to watch Bez do the Bez dance, shaking his maracas like no one was watching.

Their hands were still linked when the final notes died away, Louis squeezing lightly as he tugged Harry back to their little group. 

“We need more beer!” Niall shouted at no one in particular as they all settled back on their rugs and coats that were spread in a haphazard circle. The rest of the group groaned, no one wanting to brave the crowd around the bar which was at least ten people deep. 

“Come on, young ‘un, me and you’ll go. I need the pisser anyway.” He was already pulling Harry from the ground as he spoke, brooking no disagreement. Not that Harry wanted to turn him down, even if the price to be paid for Louis’ one on one attention was half an hour fighting the crowds for beer.

Twenty minutes later they were pressed so close together that Harry could feel the heat emanating from Louis’s skin, warmed by the sun and the hundreds of people closing in around them. Despite those many people, Harry was only aware of one person. Everywhere Louis touched him tingled with a strange electricity he’d never heard before. It terrified him to be honest. Louis was never going to fancy him back. Harry was just eighteen, just out of school, still a child to someone like Louis he was sure. Harry needed to escape. It would be better to spend the rest of the gig alone than to embarrass himself pining over Louis. He couldn’t hide it, he was the worst actor he knew, and the thought of the others noticing, of Louis noticing and feeling sorry for him, filled his gut with squirming snakes.

The trouble was, Louis was a magnet, or maybe a planet, and Harry couldn’t escape his gravitational pull. And so he found himself giggling over some joke as they stumbled back over to Louis’ friends. He’d leave after the next band, he made a deal with himself, just one more band spent soaking up anything Louis gave him. That would be ok.

“About fuckin’ time, ye bams. Fit took youse so long?” Donny yelled at them as while they were still about thirty feet away. Louis just rolled his eyes imperiously, not speeding up or responding otherwise. When they finally sat down in the circle he slowly and deliberately handed all the others a beer, finally holding one to Donnie last.

“Impatience will get you nowhere,  _ cheuchter.”  _ Donnie laughed, balling up a burger wrapper beside him and chucking it at Louis’ head.

“Aye fuck off. The ‘deen is bigger than Donnie, if anyone’s a sheep shagging cheuchter it’s you.” Louis grinned back at him, winking as he sipped his fresh pint. 

“What’s cheuchter mean?” Harry couldn’t contain his curiosity, whispering to Louis, but maybe a touch too loud from how the group all giggled.

“Aye, I thought you said to ‘Speak English around the English’, Lewis?” Donnie interjected.

“Fuck off, mate. Sorry H, it means he’s from the country and likely shags sheep. It’s his own fault for teaching me the word.”

“Oh, ok.” Harry was silent for a moment before the next words seemed to tumble from him through no thought of his own. “My home town’s probably smaller than all of yours.” 

Before he could stress about Louis seeing him as even more young and annoying and insignificant, the older boy had slung an arm around his neck and pulled him close. The electricity tingled again where their skin met.

“Yeah, but you’re basically Manchester, though. And anyway, you’ve got balls. You came up here and were gonna just hang out alone if we hadn’t rescued you. That takes some guts.” Harry preened at the praise, feeling a blush creeping up his face that he hoped he could mask with the excuse of the hot day. 

 

_ You’ve got to find time to pick the right time to make a change _

_ Cos it’s a fine time to pick the right time to make a change _

_ I do believe you read the verse _

_ I do believe you wrote the words _

 

He was saved by Cast coming onstage. John Power was all swagger and curls, clutching a can of strongbow as he sang in his scouse drawl. Harry was entranced, held captive by the music so he didn’t even notice Louis curling their fingers together and pulling them deeper into the crowd.

By the time Harry became aware of just how close they were he could feel Louis pressed up against his back, arms around his waist, his fingers idly playing with the base of Harry’s t-shirt. Louis mouthed the words along as he threw his head back, eyes closed. It was a struggle to take his eyes off the boy wrapped around him, to pay any attention at all to the band on stage. 

It was frustrating. Harry couldn’t concentrate on the band but, nothing actually happened, was the thing. Louis was pressed so close, the crowd pushing them even tighter together, and his arms were wrapped protectively around Harry, but nothing. Louis didn’t grind his hips into Harry’s arse, no matter how much Harry pushed back. He didn’t do more than breath hotly against Harry’s ear, despite Harry nuzzling his face further into Louis’ warmth. When Harry grazed his hands against Louis’ arms that were circling his waist, Louis just smiled lightly at him. When Louis played with the hem of Harry’s shirt it never went further than a light teasing feather touch against his skin that drove him insane. 

Harry went from elation when they had first curled together in the crowd, to bitter disappointment. It was clear Louis was just being protective of him, in the way he might a little brother. Instead of wrapping his arms around Harry to keep him close so their bodies touched, obviously he just didn’t want to lose Harry in the crowd. How could Harry have been stupid enough to think it might be more? Louis was older, and cooler, and hotter, than anything Harry might deserve. 

 

_ If you’ve heard all they got to say, you looked but turned away _

_ Just walkaway, walkaway, if you’ve said all you got to say _

_ Now the words just slip away, just walkaway _

 

Cast finished with walkaway. The words seemed to resonate with Harry even after the last notes of the song had long since faded from the air. Louis saw him like a kid he was looking after. Louis didn’t, couldn’t, see Harry as more, of that Harry was certain. He didn’t want to sit around all day pining for the pretty skater boy, mooning over him as Louis’ friends laughed at Harry for being so pathetic. He was better off alone. Maybe he might even find his friends if he headed back to his tree, and might be able to persuade them to stay with him for a song or two. He needed to walk away.

Louis held his hand tight as they manoeuvred through the crowd, almost like he knew Harry was a flight risk and wasn’t taking any chances. They sat back with the group, Zayn lazily grinning at them as he sparked another joint, taking a deep draw before he passed it round the circle. 

Five minutes later Harry’s chance presented itself when Louis declared he needed the loo again.

“Broke the seal, didn’t I? Schoolboy error.” He laughed with Niall as the Irishman ribbed him for having a small bladder. Truth be told Harry needed the loo too, the pints he’d been drinking having gone straight through him, but this was his moment to escape, walk away, leave Louis in peace without a pining child ruining his day.

A few minutes after Louis departed he quietly stood and grabbed his rucksack, muttering about going to the bar in case anyone was paying attention to him. He got all of twenty metres from the group when a hand grabbed his wrist and spun him roughly around. His eyes met blue, fell into blue.  _ Louis. _

“Where are you off to, Curly?” Louis’ smile was impish, making the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that was far too endearing for Harry’s poor heart.

“Umm, I was just...” Louis cut him off when he spotted Harry’s rucksack, slung over one shoulder, his coat sticking haphazardly from the top.

“What, the fuck? You’re leaving? You just going to go? I’d never have found you. How could I find you again in all these people?” Hurt coloured Louis’ voice, disappointment maybe. It curled in the base of Harry’s spine like hope and possibility.

“I didn’t think you’d really want to find me.” Harry muttered, looking down at his own shuffling feet. Despite the sunny weather his trainers were covered in a thin film of mud, spilled beer and thousands of feet having churned the ground slightly.

“Are you an idiot?” Louis sounded incredulous, and hurt. Harry looked up just in time for Louis’ lips to crash clumsily into his own. The kiss was a mess, teeth clashed and noses bumped and there was a touch too much tongue on both their parts, but Harry melted into it anyway, like a hot bath when you’ve come in from a day spent outdoors in January. 

 

_ He sipped another rum and coke _

_ and told a dirty joke _

_ Walking like Groucho, sucking on a number ten _

_ Rolling on the floor with the cigarette burns walked in _

 

They were still kissing when Ocean Colour Scene came on stage, lost together in the midst of forty thousand other people. Harry felt like he was floating through a dream. Maybe he had succeeded in leaving the group after all, and had tripped and banged his head. Maybe someone had spiked his drink and this was all an LSD inspired hallucination. Louis definitely felt real, pushed against him. His skin was hot from the sun and the crowds, his muscles firm and solid. His mouth felt real too, warm and pliant and giving against Harry’s own. Little puffs of air escaped his nose as they kissed, Harry could feel every single one, his senses heightened by beer and weed and Louis’ closeness. No, Louis was definitely real, Harry wasn’t tripping. He just still didn’t quite believe this was happening.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” He shouted over the music, almost directly into Louis’ ear as their lips parted and Louis’ continued to trail over his jaw and down his neck.

“What?” Louis pressed the word into his skin with a kiss, biting just below Harry’s ear, making his knees go weak.

“This. Us. Kissing.” Harry panted out the words, entirely too affected by the mark Louis was still sucking into his skin. Louis breaking away to look at him owlishly wasn’t what he had intended with his words.

“Are you ok? Do you want to stop? Shit, sorry Harry, I..” Harry cut him off with another kiss, hoping to gods he didn’t think existed that he was showing Louis just how much he wanted this.

“No. I do.” He added for good measure, as their lips parted just millimetres. “I really really do. I just. Just can’t believe you want me too.”

Louis just looked at him for a beat, their faces still close, pressed together. Then he burst out laughing so hard that their foreheads bashed together. Harry was still smarting from the blow by the time Louis finally gathered himself. The older boy pressed a sweet kiss to Harry’s lips before leaning back and looking at him fondly.

“Have you seen yourself? Met yourself? There's no way on earth I could have resisted you. No way I’d want to.” Louis’ gaze was hot, holding Harry’s for just a second before someone moving through the crowd bumped into him and Louis went flying. 

Harry stood dumbstruck, both by Louis’ words and the abrupt and sudden interruption. It didn’t help that the kiss still tingled on his lips, leaving him floaty and dreamlike before anything else even started to be taken into consideration. Louis pushed himself back up off the floor and into Harry’s space, immediately claiming his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Hi.” Louis gasped as the kiss broke, his eyelids fluttering back open.

“Oops.” Harry giggled, brushing some dirt from Louis’ bum as he did so. 

The interruption made them pay some belated attention to the band on the stage. Harry didn’t know that much of their music, they’d only appeared this year it seemed, but he liked what he had heard and, through the throbbing electricity that buzzed in his synapses, they seemed to be good live too. Maybe he’d go and see them if they came near him next year at uni. 

 

_ Anyway for all the things you know _

_ tell me why does the river now flow _

_ Anyway for all the things you’ve said _

_ Tell me why does the river run red _

 

The last song came too quickly, most of the set having been spent wrapped in a blanket of Louis and kisses and being utterly oblivious to their surroundings. Louis’ hand was wrapped tight in his as the riverboat song ended, bodies pressed tight together down their sides. Louis’ head rested lightly on Harry’s shoulder, and he stood, heart rabbiting, nervously awaiting the end of the song and set, the quiet that would follow, and the resumption of their conversation. 

He hadn’t been able to think of a response to “have you met yourself?” that didn’t make him either sound like an arrogant arsehole or an insecure child. Harry had never been great at compliments. He was amazing at internalising the negative things others said about him, but the praise seemed to wash over him like water off a duck’s back, leaving little to no trace it had been there.

Louis grabbed his hand, tugging him in the direction of their friends. Still nothing had been said and the tension pressed against Harry’s chest like a vice. It wasn’t that he was scared. Louis had made his intentions more than clear by this point. It was the anticipation of what happened next, what this might be, what it couldn’t possibly be, despite what Harry wanted.

Louis seemed less inclined to want to talk through his feelings than Harry was. Instead when they got back to the group he just grinned dopily at Harry, planted another kiss on his lips, and blushed hard when his friends whooped and cheered around them.

“About bloody time.” Niall hollered from the other side of the circle, earning himself a kick in the shin from Liam and a paper beer cup to the head from Louis. Zayn just patted Harry quietly on the shoulder and smiled kindly as he passed him yet another joint.

The weed suffused Harry’s blood with glitter, light sparkling at the edges of his vision as it blurred and shifted. Everything was heightened. The buzz of the crowd around them. The tickle of the warm grass against his hands. The slight breeze sifting through his hair. The way Louis’ hand was hot and warm where it rested on his thigh. The way his finger traced the tear at the knee of Harry’s jeans. The soft puffs of breath he let out as he laughed and chatted with the boys. The warm kisses he dropped onto Harry’s skin, just on the edge of where his t-shirt ended at his neckline.

Before long the people around them started pushing closer, tripping over them, invading on the space their group had carved out. It wouldn’t be long before Oasis came on stage and Harry could feel the anticipation thrumming in his veins. They ended up being forced to stand, and the crowd pushed into the space they had left, filling the gaps where just minutes before they had been sprawled. 

Silence fell almost at once, like someone had turned the volume down on everyone simultaneously. Just a few murmers and hushed whispers occasionally broke the hush. The anticipation of the crowd was palpable, Harry could almost taste it.

The first notes ripped through the air.

  
  


_ There we were now here we are _

_ All this confusion nothings the same to me _

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments will make part 2 come so much quicker! haha
> 
> and come say hi at tumblr <33


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